Accidents Waiting To Happen
by Shaitanah
Summary: Painful past always finds a way to return. Phoebe meets someone who she believed long gone. R&R, please!


**Title**: "Accidents Waiting To Happen"

**Author**: Shaitanah

**Rating**: PG

**Timeline**: Changed future; post-Season 8 Finale.

**Summary**: Painful past always finds a way to return. Phoebe meets someone who she believed long gone. R&R, please!

**Disclaimer**: I don't own _Charmed_. But I do own Paul.

**A/N**: I'm not really sure about doing a sequel for this. So please, tell me, should I? ;)

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**ACCIDENTS WAITING TO HAPPEN**

_You wanna be the one in control_

_You wanna be the one who's alive_

_You wanna be the one who gets old_

_It's not a matter of luck - it's just a matter of time._

30 Seconds to Mars_. Edge Of The Earth

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The visitor was a tall, lean youth with long jet-black hair. His face, unhealthily pale, nevertheless, expressed some radiant, ethereal beauty. He must have been about a year older than Phoebe's eldest nephew (that would make him around 18), but his dark eyes emitted calm gleam, wise beyond any age. He was well-built though a bit skinny. His sharp Adam's apple quavered slightly as he spoke in a quiescent, husky voice.

The youth was clad entirely in black. Tight jeans along with a fitting pullover outlined his fine body. He wore a long leather coat. To sum up the portrait of a gothic boy, heavy metal rings bejeweled his comely fingers of a piano-player.

He passed the threshold warily and stopped shortly before her table. Phoebe raised her head and cast him a studious glance. He looked a little out of place in her office, encumbered with multi-colored portfolios, various notepads, disks and technical devices.

"Ms Halliwell?" he asked a bit irrelevantly for he was clearly staring at the indicator with her name on it.

"Yes, that's me. And you might be–".

"Paul Scanlan. We spoke on the phone".

She remembered him. It had been a long time since she received any letters from those who sought her opinion on something. Phoebe Halliwell was now a respectable journalist. She still worked for _The Bay Mirror_, but she wrote big articles now which tended to make front pages. She handed the column over to her young assistant and the column was now called _Ask Amy_. That's why Phoebe was surprised to get Paul's letter. He wrote twice but his mail didn't make it through Phoebe's secretary. She received the third copy and returned his phone call. She was really touched by the trust he showed in her. So she invited him to come over to the editorial office. And there he was.

"To tell you the truth, I'm not sure I am the right person to help you", Phoebe admitted. "You should probably go to the social office, or police, or some special organization that keeps track of people".

"You work in a big well-known newspaper", Scanlan protested mildly. "You have a huge database of names, addresses, phone numbers here".

Phoebe smiled politely. "I see. I understand that you want to locate your mother very much. However, I can't be–".

The youth leaned into her and covered her hand with his. His palm was warm and dry. He whispered softly in her ear: "It is a very delicate matter, you see. Let's take a walk and I'll explain everything".

Out in the street (Phoebe couldn't really say why she agreed to his suggestion) he added with false reluctance: "I need your help, you see. But not as a reporter. More like one of the Charmed sisters. Oh, don't look so surprised. I can't possibly be the first person to have figured you out. Don't be afraid of exposure. Your secret's perfectly safe with me".

Phoebe tried to fight off confusion in vain. Heat crept up on her face. She bit her lip and flipped back a mass of her curly brown hair. She was in her late forties, but she belonged to that marvelous, ageless type of women that blossomed shortly before thirty and whose beauty didn't fade for a very long time. She needed no face-lifts. Her beauty was a gift of nature that developed even further after the childbirth.

"Who are you?" Phoebe inquired. The youngster snorted as if it was the question he expected to hear and he was disappointed by Phoebe's predictability. "A witch? A warlock? A demon?"

"Neither. My mother is a witch, my father was a demon".

"I wouldn't boast those genes", Phoebe remarked coolly as sheer pride illuminated the boy's face.

"I'm not evil, Ms Halliwell", he said, mockingly emphasizing the word 'evil'.

Phoebe appraised the situation neatly. They ended up in a dark yard, sort of a 'stone sack' – a space enclosed by several buildings. The youth carefully blocked her way. Phoebe rolled her eyes. He must have used some glamour on her. How come she didn't feel a thing?

His eyes resembled two deep wells of darkness.

Phoebe whirled in place and punched him hard in the face. She took him by surprise. He stumbled backwards, blood splashed from his broken nose. Phoebe wanted to run away immediately but an intimidating wall of fire rose in her way. Her heart thundered. A trap? She faced Paul boldly. He managed to stop the blood and was now looking at her in a way that surprised and alerted her at the same time. There was guilt and… offense in his eyes. As if she betrayed his trust somehow by hitting him.

Phoebe opened her mouth but Paul objected before she could say anything: "Don't attempt to summon anyone of your relatives. I cast a non-orbing spell. Even if they hear you, it'll take them a long time to arrive".

"What do you want?" asked Phoebe with obvious animosity.

"I shall extinguish the fire if you promise to hear me out. I need a little piece of advice".

She still couldn't be confident in him. But she made no attempts to escape, so he put out the flame. Phoebe shivered uncomfortably. It was no ordinary demon. He didn't seem to be after the Book, or the sisters, or their children. She had seen a lot of oddities during her time but this was a powerful teenager who wanted nothing more than to find his mother.

"You told me your mother was a witch", said Phoebe. "That means you already found her. What do you want with me?"

"I am a foster child, Ms Halliwell", Paul shrugged. "There comes a time for every foster child when he'd do anything to locate his biological parents. Ask Paige about it, she should remember the feeling. It's like you'll never be complete. I always wanted to know where I had come from. I've had these powers since I was very little". He raised his hands and conjured two identical fireballs. The flame lit his face which reminded Phoebe of some ancient burial mask. Paul went on without looking away from his hands: "They made me different. It's not easy being torn away from your inheritance. I started my little investigation solely in pursuit of knowledge after I accidentally set my house on fire. I'm very grateful to my foster family. They do all they can for me but I'm tired of having them keeping my secrets. They deserve peace now. I just want to find my witch mother and ask her: what the hell happened? Why did she abandon me? That's a natural wish, isn't it?"

"You mentioned your father was a demon. He might be the reason".

Paul's face darkened. Phoebe regretted having said that. To tell a demonic half-blood he was abandoned because of his genes wasn't the best way to ensure her safety.

"My parents loved each other, I know that", said Paul finally. "Moreover, my mother wanted me. I was conceived in love".

"I'm not sure I need to know such details, Mr Scanlan. I still don't get it–".

"What can I tell her? I'm going to visit her. Tell me, Phoebe", he became less ceremonious all of a sudden, "what should I say? 'Hi, Mom!' would not be enough, right?"

Phoebe almost pitied him. After all, it wasn't his fault that he was fathered by a demon. Most demons seduced witches or innocents, took what they wanted and threw their toys away without regret. Paul's mother must have been fooled by one of such bastards. It was too late when she realized the truth. She had gotten rid of Paul because he must have been a terrible reminder of those hurtful events.

As much as she should have liked to help the youth, it wasn't within her power. But Phoebe wasn't used to giving up.

"Do not attack", she said. Paul threw up his head and listened to her attentively. "You have every right to demand an explanation but you should let her give you her point of view on the story. She must still regret leaving you. But giving you away for adoption could have been the only option she had left. The circumstances are unclear".

Paul cocked his head, pondering over her words. Phoebe hoped she could help him. He didn't seem that dangerous anymore, but she was still suspicious. It was tiresome. She just wished she reached home soon, dived into a bubble bath and finished her new article before her husband got back from work and brought their little daughter from the dance-club.

Scanlan shook her hand and flashed her a reassuring smile. "Thank you for your time, Ms Halliwell. I'll try to follow your piece of advice. I'm really sorry if our conversation was unnerving".

He started away from her. Phoebe followed him with her eyes cautiously. Halfway out in the street he stopped and dropped a remark over his shoulder:

"For you information, my mother didn't put me in an orphanage. She tried to kill me".

Flame broke through his body, enveloped him, and he shimmered away.

* * *

The manor was empty and quiet, so Phoebe worked in peace until it was already considerably late. She managed to shake off the memories of today's events. Though she could still picture the boy's face very clearly. There was something vaguely familiar about him…

Distant noise upstairs broke through Phoebe's musing. She rushed up the stairs. It had to be coming from the attic. "Oh God, a demon!" Phoebe told herself. But the intruder turned out to be something totally different.

He stood in the middle of the attic, motionless and silent. Then he looked her in the eye, and Phoebe gasped: for a moment his eyes seemed pure blackness blazing with fire.

"Paul? What are you doing here?" Phoebe asked, struggling to keep fear out of her voice.

The youth smiled solemnly.

"Just following your advice. Sit down, Mom", he motioned towards the chair. "We have plenty to talk about".

Phoebe sank in the chair. She refused to believe her ears. Why would he call her Mom? She couldn't sense anything about him. Could he be from the future? Did he come the way Chris had a long time ago?

'No way!' Phoebe reasoned. 'His father was a demon… _was_ a demon!' Yes, that's what he said. She remembered the phrase correctly: _My mother is a witch, my father was a demon_. Last time she saw eyes like these…

"No", Phoebe murmured in a muffled voice. "You're dead. The Seer failed to control you, you both died".

Paul placed his hand on Phoebe's shoulder gently, and a stream of memories filled her mind. The black wedding, Cole's deception, the Seer's tonic with an infusion of evil. The Charmed Ones destroy the Source. The baby grows in her womb. He's pre-born, he _knows_. He blames Paige for his father's demise and tries to get rid of her by any means necessary. The Seer steals the baby…

The premonition ended abruptly. Choking on tears, Phoebe attempted to maintain control. It was impossible! How could the baby survive?

Come to think of it, he did look a lot like Cole. He had Cole's eyes which stared at her with the same bitterness, reminding her of that dreadful night they made her choose between her family and her love.

"What do you want now?" asked Phoebe.

"What you told me to learn. '_The circumstances are unclear_'."

"I thought you were dead".

Phoebe smiled bitterly. It was no proper excuse. After all, she was afraid of that demonic embryon that had begun to live before its actual birth and she did try to kill him.

Now he was here. He found her. A newborn wave of cold fear washed over her along with some unexpected maternal tenderness. After all, Paul was her child. He was powerful and handsome and looked so much like his father. And he was, no matter what, the Halliwell. She could see it behind the net of fire that covered his eyes occasionally – the vision of home.

"You are a demon", said Phoebe stubbornly, hoping to talk some sense into herself. He had the Source's DNA, in the long run.

"A half-blood", Paul corrected. Phoebe tensed: he was dangerously close to the Book of Shadows. Paul must have noticed her reaction. His hand flew up and froze just above the cover. "Demons are evil, Mother. I, as you will see quite soon, am not".

His open palm connected with the trefoil engraved on the cover of the Book of Shadows. Nothing happened. The Book acknowledged him as good… Phoebe shook her head. Glamour, illusion, mischief – son of the Source could not seem good to the Book. It even tried to escape from Drake, the former demon who _was_ good, for sure.

"Don't worry", Paul said when he caught her watching him tentatively. "I don't need your precious Book. Although there surely _is_ a piece of information I am interested in".

He snapped his fingers, and the Book opened. The pages rustled, and their round dance faltered. Phoebe stretched her neck to look up. Of course. Belthazor.

While Paul was reading, Phoebe observed him. What unimaginable concurrence had brought him here! He survived the Seer's destruction somehow though he wasn't even fully formed yet. He grew up in a normal family, learnt all he could about his real parents – and he came to her. She still wasn't sure he wouldn't seek vengeance.

"You're too quick to judge, Phoebe", stated Paul and banged the Book down. "You only think about yourself. Just as I thought".

"You have no right to blame me", Phoebe snapped. "Don't ever say I wanted you dead! If it depended on me, you would have stayed".

"An old demon from the Underworld who witnessed the rise and fall of the Source told me about my father. She told me enough. Even the things you'd prefer to keep unsaid. For example: my father was ready to turn the throne down for you. He wanted to hand it over to some wizard, but then you showed up, the only person that could ever influence him. You agreed to be his Queen, so basically it's your fault that he remained… _evil_".

Paul nearly spat the last word out, making it obvious he despised their gradation. Phoebe protested: she was manipulated by the Seer.

"Why did you have to kill him? Why not give him some potion to block his powers? The raiders of the Underworld would not have found you that way".

"He wouldn't agree–".

"Why?" shouted Paul. "Did you _ask_ him?"

Phoebe hid her face in her palms. Impatient, stubborn, persistent, just – the boy was every bit her flesh and blood. Hell, even his name – by some incredible, insane coincidence – started with 'P'.

"And when he came back to life", the youth went on harshly, "why didn't you accept him? He loved you!"

She couldn't trust him. Phoebe was afraid. Her feelings betrayed her. She had forgiven Cole a long time ago and she confessed it to the boy who spoke on his behalf. Paul took a deep breath and resumed his reserved, calm look.

"I'm not a demon", he said softly. "Demons can't love. I'm going back to my family, the one I do love. I knew all I wanted. Thank you, Ms Halliwell".

He shimmered out. Slowly, indecisively, Phoebe walked up to the spot where he'd just been standing. The faint smell of cologne still lingered there. But nothing more than this. She couldn't sense him in a way she sensed magical creatures. It was as if Paul was but a shadow, but she knew that he was real.

"Phoebe", someone called her by name.

She braced herself and answered without looking back, "I'm okay, Wyatt".

Her nephew touched her by the elbow tenderly. His blue eyes smiled at her and she smiled back, almost unintentionally. She wouldn't tell anyone about Paul. Their life was perfect and she would ruin it under no circumstances. Paul was wrong when he accused her of being selfish: she really needed her sisters' support but Piper would freak out and Paige would just brew a potion and go after 'the Source's spawn'.

And she hoped life could be normal!..

"Are you sure everything's alright, Aunt Phoebe?" Wyatt asked with concern.

She shivered slightly. She almost forgot about him.

Putting a smile on her face, Phoebe replied:

"I'm positive. Thanks, Wyatt".

_July, 3 – 10. 2006

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**Don't forget to tell me what you think! **


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